Bomberman vs Bombs set off by White Men

Rating: 1/10 (19 May 2015)

I first had the pleasure of seeing this wonderful carjacking wreck of a film in my RS class after exams. Throughout the majority of the first half, I was completely focused on the action! Of my Nintendo DS, on which I was in a heated multiplayer session of Bomberman with my dear friend.
Every so often, I would raise my weary head from the world of cheery music and downright stressful strategic planning to watch the heart-tearing acting of that iTunes updating McAfee son of a gun during his most poignant moments of depressing and scary music and slightly less stressful but far less efficient strategic planning.
Tedious stretches of plot followed- oh no, not tedious in a bad way! Tedious in a good way, like having to put up with a paint splattered flirterer going at your speed during a marathon. With a stitch. Overall, these sections consisted of lots of lukewarm acting (but the characters were hawt) and harlot-poppingly bad delivery of iconic lines that the screenwriter clearly intended to provoke intelligent thought- "Why can't I have bacon? What is tofu?" Regardless of the little dragon sniffles here and there, one cannot deny that these lines did a curtain-slack-jaw job of making the audience truly believe the horrors that these clones were unknowingly facing.
Then I died on Bomberman because a lot of these lines are pretty gosh darn weird out of context. "LET'S DO IT IN THE HALL." That was probably my fault for dying? Uh. I was watching the gripping action, directed by the stellar Michael Bay. All of those explosions could only improve my gamepla- I died again. Can we blame the rich people now? The film did certainly make a point of that. Pretend it's because the messages of the film stuck with me to the very end, like...my brain constantly sending me the message to just stop functioning. Or to stop the DVD player from doing so.
Oh, and now asexual people are just sheltered children waiting for their sexual awakening via Scarlett Joanne Hannah's Son and Little Calvin. Ta, Michael Bay. I owe you one for accurate representation.
Time to be serious? Ugh, fine. Good ethical dilemma. Give us more than two moments to comprehend emotional scenes, although I suppose they *were* with pieces of cardboard anyway. Unless your idea of emotion is non-stop explosions, guns and car chases, but I couldn't appreciate any of it because my manly, bad-arse nature would not let me look at the explosions. Ignore my vagina, look at my man card. Yes, I did actually watch this film, after the lesson. No, I am not drunk.
This film shook me to my very core of disbelief because that is what you usually say when reviewing a film. I think that Michael Bay has changed my life, but this film in particular was a failure because it failed to incorporate any Skull Bombs or Sticky Bombs. Our great backwards cuffed computer tab of a director, Lord and Saviour, must learn soon, before I asphyxiate him with a pair of used cycling shorts. Taste the Lance Armstrong muscles on your skinny baby men, bay! Vive la dope ain't a nope!
Let me completely blunt with you here, I had more emotional connection to Bomberman. Toodle pip, Michelle Oak.